Rage Against
by lauraxamelia
Summary: When time conspires against you, who do you blame? The child who has it all before her? The young woman who has waited all her life for you? The woman who acted out of love? The man who was simply too brave, too good? The widow? Or...yourself?
1. Prologue and Epilogue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, but if I did, this is what would happen…**

**AN: So, I'm back! Hopefully I'll see this one through. I really, really will try. I have it all planned for once, and a lot written out already, so it's looking hopeful!**

**Chapter One: Prologue and Epilogue**

I'm in my tree again, climbing up through the rough branches and cool leaves until I come to the seat. It's not a real one, of course. Just a natural alcove in the tree that just about fits me perfectly. From here, I can see everything and nothing. Sure, the leaves hide the ground, and I can't see much of the horizon – but upwards it's a different story. I don't know why, but the sky just feels so much closer here – as if I could just step out onto a passing shooting star and leave the world behind. The endless canopy is a perfect, picture book blue today – not a cloud in sight. I settle into the seat, letting leaves caress my body as I stare up and dream of the stars.

Suddenly – I've almost dozed off – there's the slightest of rustles next to me. I crick my neck, I turn so fast. He's here again. I keep quiet though, trying not to let on I know, until his face peers out from between two branches.

"Hello," he grins,and I wriggle over to make space on my seat. It's a squeeze, and I always end up half on his lap, but to be brutally honest I don't exactly mind.

"Have you been here long?"

"A while – you're late again."

"Oi!" I'm indignant. "You never exactly tell me a time. 'Oh, I'll be around sometime after lunch next Tuesday'...'I might pop in after midnight on the third of June'... How am I supposed to guess when you'll turn up? Telepathy?"  
"You could always try," he retorts. "Or just move into the tree 24/7."

"Why do we have to always meet up here anyway?" I ask, knowing the answer already. It never changes.

"Because at some point soon I am going to become a little girl's imaginary friend in the tree, half a lifetime ago."

"But what does that even _mean_?" I sulk, frustrated.

"It means..." He taps me on the nose. "That time travel is complicated."

I relent then, accepting this – as I always do, of course – as true, and more importantly not wanting to turn this into an argument. The last time that happened, I nearly broke my neck in my haste to get out of tree. He never leaves before me, of course, and I never see him arrive; when I was younger I actually thought he lived up here in the trees. Only coming out every now and then to say hello.

The talk turns to other, topics – school, friends, Mum and Dad and Bennie. It never used to occur to me to ask him about his life, and now I think it would be too awkward. It's so easy talking to him though – I just pour everything out and he listens, understands. Eventually, though, he asks me the one question I had been praying to avoid, even though he'd been asking it every visit, now.  
"And...boyfriends?"  
"Well," I begin, looking down and buying a few seconds time. "There is someone I like, I guess, but I don't really know how to start anything."

"Just ask him out?"

I almost laugh. If only it were so simple.

"That's not exactly possible."  
"Ah. Your parents would find him wildly unsuitable."  
"That's an understatement." And that's not exactly a lie, I tell myself. Of course they would.

"Bummer," he sighs, slightly awkwardly, and I have to smile. He doesn't make this any easier, obviously, but it could be so much worse. "So...want me to check your French vocab again?"  
Though I groan theatrically, my standard response when he switches to Teacher mode, I'm grateful for the change of subject.

It's late, way too late, when I next stand up to peer through a gap in the leaves to check the church spire.

"Shit!" I gasp, and hurriedly repack my rucksack with books, uneaten apples, pens.

"River..."  
"What?"  
"Come on now. You can't swear in front of your imaginary friend and not expect a bollocking."

I'm about to snap when I get it, and catch his smirk.

"Very clever, mister. But I'm late, Mum'll be furious."  
"I know, I know – sorry!"  
"Nah, don't apologise, not your fault."

I struggle onto a lower branch, and stand up again to bring myself up to his eye level.

"Well – bye then."  
"Until next time." He pauses, seemingly searching for words. "River...when did you last see me?"  
"Two weeks ago exactly," I answer promptly. "After school. When did you last see me?"  
His eyes grow distant, as they always do when he's thinking about Future Me.

"Just before I came here. You're thirty-three."  
"Shut up!"  
"What?"  
"Shut up! I'm never gonna be that old."  
"Oh, you just wait. I rather think you'll enjoy it." He gives me one, searching look, and stoops slightly to kiss me on the cheek. I've hardly had time to recover when he deals his blow. "I'll be back on Boxing Day at about ten in the morning, OK?"  
"Boxing Day! That's -" I count quickly - "Four months!"

"I know...Nothing I can do, it's already been and gone for me."  
"Yeah. Well," I mutter, furious. _Months_! "See you."  
And I climb out of the tree, not bothering to turn around for a final wave. _Four months_!

_-x-_

The Doctor watched her go, smiling slightly. She would have forgiven him by Christmas – in fact she would be so happy to see him he would almost fall out of the tree.

As he lowered himself out of the tree and walked back to where he'd left the TARDIS two miles away, the Doctor allowed himself the time to think, as he so often did, about the big fucking mess he was in. He didn't know what was worse; the raw, aching gap where _she_ should be, the ever-present and increasingly redundant adulterer's guilt, having to sit in a tree and be an imaginary friend to a little girl, or share a life with the woman she grew up to be.

What the Doctor did know, however, was how River would react to him coming back now, with her locked in the TARDIS Library; it was the first time he'd had to leave her behind. According to River, he did it all the time, and she'd grow used to it soon enough – the Doctor just wished there was a way for her to tell River that.

Yeah, time travel could be a bit of a bitch.

**AN: Hmmm, too Time Traveller's Wife? Please review, I honestly would like some constructive feedback. Also will definitely reply to all signed reviews and also make an effort to read and comment on some of your work in return! xx**


	2. Dance

**AN: Here we go, chapter two. Less mind-boggling than the last one, I hope, and a lot more fun and dancing ^^**

**CHAPTER TWO; DANCE**

"And...We've...landed?" Amy couldn't disguise the doubtful inflection to her voice.

"Let's see..." The Doctor unfolded himself from the chair and joined her at the console. "Yep! Landed!" He exclaimed finally, pulling Amy into a happy hug. "Nice one, Pond!"

"Thanks," Amy laughed. "Right place and time too, yeah?"

"Um... I'll have to check that."  
Amy watched as the Doctor ran to the door, opened it and breathed in deeply.  
"Well, it's Earth, England, and it's the early 19th Century..."

"But...?"

"Um...nothing, I think. Pretty much spot on." The Doctor's tone was grudging, almost belligerent. Amy smirked.

"So, I basically nailed it, yeah? That was good, right? Come on, I think I pretty much did a good job of that..."

"All right, all right, you were magnificent," allowed the Doctor, laughing despite himself. "Ready to look around, then?"

"Yeah... Oi! Rory!" added, calling up into the further reaches of the TARDIS. It was a short wait until Rory appeared, his hair still damp from the shower, a worried expression on his face,

"What is it, are you okay? Amy?" He asked worriedly, crossing the console to her.

"I'm fine," Amy laughed, shrugging his protective hand off. "I just landed the TARDIS in 1804, in Bath."

"What?"

"Um, 1804. Bath, in England..." But Rory had turned away, angry. Amy bit her lip; she had thought this would happen.

"Rory..." she began, taking his arm. "Come on. The Doctor was right here, nothing could have gone wrong.

"And could you know that, before? That you would be safe?"Amy hesitated. Rory gave a short, humourless laugh and avoided her eyes. Amy cast a desperate look at the Doctor, who had been trying to blend in with the walls, pretending not to even have been listening. Now, though, he wandered over to Rory apprehensively."Listen, Rory," he began. "I promise you, Amy was safe."

"That's not the point, Doctor," answered Rory quietly. "You told me you wouldn't let her. You – lied to get me out of the way! 'Oh, we're just hovering around a meteorite shower Amy wanted to see, you can go have a shower if you want Rory, you're not missing anything!'"

"Rory, I promise you, I was never even in danger-" Amy started to say, but Rory turned his back, furiously. This left him at a dead end: the TARDIS doors. Stepping outside would acknowledge that, actually, Amy hadn't put anyone in danger. But staying in here seemed, at this moment, unbearable; making his decision, Rory wrenched the doors open and strode out into a swirling snowfall.

_-x-_

The house on the end of Palace Parade shone out into the deserted square. Behind its drawn curtains, hundreds of candles and lanterns blazed. As Amy and the Doctor approached, they began to make out the low rumble of dozens of simultaneous conversations as well as the live music. When they reached the steps, Amy took the Doctor's arm to stop him.

"What, what's wrong?" he asked, nonplussed.

"Nothing...it's just...Rory's out here somewhere, in this weather, I mean I know he'll be fine but I just feel mean and-"

"Amy." The Doctor placed a finger on her lips. "Shh. We were wrong, I know, but Rory over reacted. Let him have a bit of air, we'll find each other when we need to."  
Amy nodded, half relieved and half wondering why she should be relieved.

"OK."

"Good!" The Doctor took her hand and pulled her up the steps, clearly restraining himself from running.

_-x-_

Half an hour later, and Amy still hadn't been picked up by a dashing Darcy-alike. The Doctor wandered around the peripheries of the room, enjoying just soaking up the atmosphere, but Amy longed to be a part of the dancing. But she knew enough not to simply ask a guy to dance, or even just approach someone – they should come to her... Only none of them were. She was a stranger, with no mutual acquaintances or respectable chaperones; no one here had a way of getting to know her. The Doctor was no help, far too oblivious to come to her rescue – far too oblivious, even, to know that she wanted rescuing. There it was again; half of Amy was aching, the other half wondering why.

And then she saw him. Standing in the doorway, his hair plastered to his head and dotted by snowflakes, his eyes scanning the room, his chiselled features suddenly the most attractive in the room. Amy forgot, in that instance, the strange, half-painful feeling that had been dogging her all night. Here was Rory, here she was – anything else seemed ludicrous. She edged around the dance floor, hoping to surprise him, but she never even got half way before Rory spotted her and nearly tripped in his haste to reach her.

"Amy, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Shut up."

"But, really, I know you were safe really, I just get so worried-"

"No. Still shut up." Amy pulled him close, their faces barely touching. "Ask me to dance." Rory grinned at her, relieved, and pulled back slightly.

"Mrs. Williams, will you do this bloody idiot the _extreme_ honour of the next dance?"

"Oh, Mr. Pond," she giggled, taking his hand as they took their places. "I thought you'd never ask."

What followed wasn't exactly as romantic as they'd hoped, owing to the fact that neither of them knew the steps, or even any steps, or even how to avoid other people's feet. After a few minutes of excruciating embarrassment and hilarity, Amy and Rory ducked out into a smaller alcove. The respite wasn't to last long; after what seemed like only a few seconds, the Doctor practically pounced on them.

"Oi!" he spluttered, spotting them sat down. "Why aren't you having fun?"

"We were, Doctor," Amy laughed. "But the people dancing next to us weren't."

"Ah. Didn't think of that. Still, we can fix that. Come on, Pond, and Rory, watch carefully." With that, the Doctor grabbed Amy by the waist and hands, and started manoeuvring her around their little cubbyhole. There wasn't much room, but Amy didn't even need that to see that she was dancing with an expert. The Doctor somehow managed to twirl Amy around, push her back, spin around her as she stood stock still and finish by joining his left hand with hers, bringing them up above their heads, and step in almost uncomfortably close. There was a second of stillness, then he let go, relaxing into a grin that replaced the almost serious expression of before.

"Well. Think you got that?" he asked Rory, who had been watching with his mouth slightly ajar. The Doctor seemed to take this as a good sign and pulled both Amy and Rory into the ballroom again. A dance had just finished; there was a round of applause and the musicians struck up a new melody.

"Oh, I like this one," commented the Doctor, steering them through the crowd. "But we're one girl short...we need, we need, we need...ah ha!"  
He hurtled across the room, coming to a halt in front of a young girl with brown curls. She had been staring into the middle distance, apparently quite content alone.

"Hello," started the Doctor confidently, startling the girl out of her reverie. "It is Miss Austen, isn't it?"

"No, I'm afraid not, sir," the girl began, and the Doctor's face fell. "As I am by a few years the younger, that title must go to my sister, Cassandra. I could introduce you after this dance, if you like."

"So you _are _Jane Austen then?" the Doctor asked, beaming again. When Jane nodded, he laughed. "Excellent! Well then, Miss Jane, may I have this dance?"  
Without waiting for an answer, he took her by the hand and pulled her back to where Amy and Rory had paused.

"Here we go. Jane Austen, may I introduce Rory Williams and Amelia Pond, Mr and Mrs."  
Amy and Rory barely had time to do a sort of silent combustion before the dance began in earnest.

It seemed a long time later that Amy had a brief respite as the girls formed an alley down which all their partners had to sort of artistically skip. She found herself next to Jane, and had to keep biting her tongue from blurting out everything she loved about her books – for all she knew, and her precise history was never really precise, they hadn't even been dreamt of.

"So...you and Mr. Williams are engaged to be married?" asked Jane out of the blue.

"No," answered Amy, perplexed. "Already married."

"Oh! But I thought, with the different names -"

"Oh, I get it. No, no, that was just our choice."

"Are you an actress, perhaps, Mrs. Pond? An artist's model? A published writer? There must be some reason for you to keep your own name."

"Not really," said Amy uncomfortably. "We just... Thought it best." At that moment, she was saved from any more questions by Rory and the Doctor taking their places opposite them again. The four of them moved in a circle, then divided into pairs again. Amy grasped Rory's shoulder tightly, afraid to trip or step on someone again. It was apparently the "done" thing to talk while dancing, because Rory soon brought up the one thing she had been hoping he wouldn't.

"Um, why did the Doctor say you were still called Pond?"

"I don't know," Amy muttered, avoiding his eyes. "I think he's just used to it. You know, 'come along, Pond,' and everything."

"Don't you think you could ask him not to?"

"Why, though, really? Rory?"

"Maybe because you took my name? You married me, and we decided that you would be Williams, ages ago we decided, but apparently you forgot to tell anyone."

"Rory..."

But before Amy could begin to make amends, the dance pushed them away from each other again. When Rory next found her, he took Amy's right hand in his and they walked in a slow line along the dance floor.

"And," he continued, as if nothing had interrupted their flow of conversation, "You're not wearing your ring again."

"Oh, stop fussing. It's only in my pocket."

"Only-!"

"Yes, only! We're at an actual _Jane Austen ball_! How many dances do you think a married girl gets?"

"I asked you!"

"Well," snapped Amy, glad that this part of the dance was ending, "You weren't here!"  
And she switched hands with Jane, taking the Doctor's arm again.

"Hello, you," he smiled, pulling her around in a slow circle.

"Hey," she muttered.

"Now, come on, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just, nothing, really."

"Amy..."

"Look," Amy managed. "Let's not ruin our dance."

The Doctor seemed perfectly happy with this proposition, so they continued to slowly revolve around each other in silence.

"Mr. Williams, I do hope you don't find me incredibly bold in asking, but is anything the matter?"  
Rory didn't quite know what to say. On the one hand, it was none of Jane's business. On the other, it was _Jane Austen_. He settled for a compromise.

"Yes, I suppose there is, but if it's all the same to you I'd rather not discuss it."

"Of course," answered Jane smoothly as they turned another corner. "And if it's all the same to you | I think I'll simply discuss it with myself. I can't help myself, I see the story in everything."

Rory grinned.  
"How do you mean?"

"I'll just... Ponder on what I see. It's up to you how much you'll indulge my little game."

"Sounds all right to me. What _do_ you think then?"

"I think..." mused Jane, "I think you have been desperately in love for a very, very long time, Mr. Williams. Longer, perhaps, than your charming wife has."

"Hey, now-"

"Ah," she warned. "I'm not done yet. Let's see, you're wearing a ring but she isn't; neither has she got a wedding ring mark. You're recently married, and happily so, I should say – although maybe not as happily as you'd like. Not settled enough, your Amelia? Not quite used to being a Mrs?"  
Rory was stumped. How did she know that?

"How did-"

"How did I know? Oh, I didn't. I guessed; in my mind you simply became two figures, to do as I bid them."

"Oh, really. And how would the story carry on?"

"If it was totally, incontrovertibly my decision, and wouldn't affect any real people at all?"

"Um, yes," Rory answered, flummoxed.

"Then... _Lizzie_, as we'll call her, will never even marry the man from the village at all. I think he'll propose, with the best of intentions; Lizzie meanwhile will fall under the spell of a handsome but, how shall I put it, socially inept stranger. At first, it is Hate at first sight, at least on her part – later, as in so many of these cases , it becomes Love, and we get two very satisfying star-crossed lovers. Of course, Lizzie's village suitor must have a rich ally, who will offer Lizzie a chance of a rich and settled, but ultimately loveless, life – she'll force Lizzie to decide between love and money, or no! Better, much better! The rich aunt of our hero deems Lizzie unsuitable and will do anything in her power to keep them apart. Lizzie will choose her stranger, and love, eventually, but, ohh! The things they'll go through!"

Rory could only gape. Of course, he knew that plot, but -

"I'm so sorry!" gasped Jane suddenly. "I didn't mean to offend – I never really think those fancies through – of course, if it really were you and Amelia we were talking about, she would settle soon enough, and the whole story would be that of a happy life-"

"Yeah," retorted Rory bitterly. "If it was only a story, it would be a pretty dull one."

Jane started to speak some words of reassurance, or comfort, or pity, but the music segued into another new movement, and Rory found himself dancing with his wife again.

Amy's cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright; she looked, Rory realised, happy.

"What?" she asked, flushing under his eyes.

"Nothing," he answered quickly. "Look, let's not fight, okay? I don't care about the name really, or about the ring – so long as it's you and me."

"OK," said Amy happily. "You and me. Me and you. Yeah,"

The dance finished with a flourish; the musicians got a round of applause. Amy could hardly wait to drag Rory off into their alcove.

As soon as they were out of sight, Amy brought her lips to Rory's, grabbing the back of his head. Rory, while slightly bemused, was by now used to such outbursts and went with it enthusiastically as always. When she released him, he smiled down at her.

"OK. What was that for?"

"Just..." Maybe Rory was being paranoid; maybe Amy really did answer without meeting his eyes. "Like you said, let's not fight."

The Doctor and Jane had found a quiet table in a corner of the ballroom; they had seen Amy and Rory at the end of the dance, but not since then,

"You'd have a chance there, you know," said Jane eventually, breaking the companionable silence.

"Sorry, what?"

Jane simply gestured towards the doorway through which they assumed Amy and Rory had escaped. The Doctor felt, for one moment, hideously trapped; next he felt completely indignant.

"What! No! No, don't be stupid" Sorry," he added quickly, remembering who he was talking to, "But me and- No! Really, just – no! It's Rory, it's always been Rory. And," he added hastily, "It's never been Amy to me, or me to Amy. OK?"  
Jane nodded, smiling slightly condescendingly.

"If you say so, Doctor. I'm only saying – if you wanted to take it, I think the chance would be there.

"Really? I mean, of course there wouldn't, Amy's got her Boy Who Waited, why would she even..." The Doctor tailed off, realising belatedly that he had done absolutely nothing to change Jane's mind., and they resumed a now rather prickly silence.

_-x-_

Amy, Rory and the Doctor returned to the TARDIS much later that night. The Doctor had found Jane Austen, once they had exchanged some meaningless banter to smooth out the disagreement, extraordinary to talk to, and Amy and Rory had been happy to spend all night alternating between dancing and their alcove.

"And," enthused the Doctor as he unlocked the TARDIS and ushered them all inside. "Jane's going to write a story about us!"

"Sorry, what?" giggled Amy, sinking into the chair.

"Yeah, yeah, she said I was the most interesting person she'd met in a long, long time. So she asked me for my first name, I said Mark – yeah, I know, I know, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight," he hurried on, "And she said, and I quote, 'Well, you can't be Mark Doctor, no one would believe that was a real name. I might keep the initial though. You and your friends are going to make a very good story, I should think. I'll send it to my sister, she loves hearing about the balls.' Isn't that just the funniest thing EVER! I am Mark D to Jane Austen! HA!"  
The Doctor, who had been careering around the console wildly, was brought up short, suddenly remembering who Mark Darcy actually was. Ah.

"But..." he hastened to add. "Jane did tell me it was probably all going to veer off into high fiction, so don't go hunting through your books for a clue... Um... I think I'll just go to bed actually, um, good night." He ran off, barely making it to his room before collapsing, He was such a tactless git.

Rory and Amy went to bed early too, but none of the TARDIS' three occupants that night slept particularly well; each of them had enough of their mind to be getting on with. And in roughly two thirds of cases, dreaming turned out to be rather less helpful, and a lot more guilt-inducing.

* * *

**AN - This chapter, or versions of it, have been floating round my head for years; for a while it was 10/Rose, then 10/Rose with Mickey, then 11/Amy post-crack-eating-Rory...it basically just feeds my ballroom fetish and lets me play around with Jane Austen's world. I think I love this version best, with Amy/Rory and a hint of 11/Amy tension, but I'm not sure if it's subtle enough. Also, I was asked in a review if this 'fic was going to be 11/River or 11/Amy - and I can't answer that. Not because I don't_ know_, but...well, anyway. You'll see! Much loves, martha smith x**

**AN.2 - And can I just say, AGAIN, that I'm martha smith for Martha/Mickey. Not 10/Martha. Kay? Now stop sending me links to your Martha smut and Rose-bashings. I. Ship. 10/Rose. Understood? Thank you.  
**


	3. A Contract

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AN: I wanted to upload this yesterday but was madly busy, sorry! Thanks to all who've reviewed, and also thank you so so much to ALLEE95. DancingSpy and excalibur snape for favouriting and to Azurefalls (HAI :D), DancingSpy and MarvandMerlin for Alerting. It means a lot me, it really does ^^  
And so, without further ado, back to the story...and yes, I did steal the name from The Hunger Games. It just fits, dont'cha think?

**Disclaimer: I don't own this. Not even the OCs in most of my fics are completely original, let alone the plot...**

* * *

Chapter Three; A contract

Two words, seemingly unconnected; not really a name, not really a turn of phrase, not really an anything.

They began to mean something in certain circles, in every time and every galaxy. On the Discworld, they were the calling card of a very expensive Seamstress. To the Clerics, they meant danger. To those found in secluded booths and loud clubs, they meant trade. To others, or more specifically one other, or more specifically one, still so young, other, they represented mystery, flirtation, inevitability. But to President Snow, the words River Song were the words that would summon someone who didn't care. Someone who would do as he said, no questions asked. Someone with not a shred of morality left in their soul.

It was this that brought her to him; the word had spread reliably quickly through ex-Time Agents, rogue Traders, messengers, phone calls.

_Snow wants Song. Bring her in. Unharmed._

_-x-_

"Doctor Song-"

"Please. Call me River."

"No, I don't think I will," retorted Snow, inspecting the woman from behind interlaced fingers. "You know, presumably, why you have been called to see me."

"Is there ever a different reason for being called to see Snow? For someone of my…calibre?"

"Well, precisely."

"Besides, I knew to expect you. Remember?"

"No, I don't believe I do."

"Ah. Spoilers. Doesn't matter."

"I see. Well, there it is. We understand each other, I suppose."

"Precisely. Name?"

"Doctor Song, the matter is… delicate."

"Surely the great Snow can trust his own Chambers?" There was a playful edge to her voice; it seemd almost as though she was at ease here, and Snow couldn't help but owe her a sort of grudging respect for refusing to play by his rules.

"Now, now, Song, don't start. You will find everything you need to know in the file."  
The file was handed across the desk. It was an innocuous enough thing, plain brown paper with no writing, and River didn't hesitate in opening it up and scanning the front page.

"Snow, there's still no name. Just a…title? Job description?"

"It will suffice. Trust me, everyone knows him by his title."

"So why don't I?"

"I don't actually know; interesting."

"If _everyone knows_, why would I not?"

"Honestly. No idea. But irrelevant. If you're looking, you'll find him. Now, I'd assume you know the way out?"

"The way I came in; of course."

"Well. That's all, I should think. Good luck. Professor Song, and… _au revoir_."

River smirked.

"Don't count on it, please. Time can be…tricky."

"Of course, forgive me. Well, good bye, then."  
River nodded, stood up, turned to go.

"Oh, and, Song."

"Yes?" She didn't turn around.

"You needn't bother checking back in. If the Doctor has been killed, I would assume we'll find out anyway. And if you should fail…well. We'll be in touch."

_-x-_

The reasons for Snow wanting this man dead, River didn't need to know. His method of payment was always the same; that was fine, too. But what confused her was the lack of pictures. A small note was attached to the back of the file; something about changing faces, and having no reliable time line. So, that was interesting. No matter. River would track him down eventually.

And she did, of course. This in itself wasn't surprising: there was a reason people knew who to contact for the very best in assassination. What surprised River was who she tracked him down to. She found this…Doctor…stepping out of a blue police box, accompanied by a girl she had never seen before, and a man she hadn't ever dared hope to see again.

* * *

**AN: While I'm thinking about The Hunger Games...the London2012 team are. Recruiting. Game. Makers. EPIC MARKETING FAIL that's very slightly worrying... Please do take the time to review, I know this gets hits and it doesn't take long to make my day and help me improve as a writer :) I'd also love to know what you think is going to happen - and if you're following the story. Would it help, for instance, to put River's age at the top of each chapter? Or are you coping OK so far? xD**


	4. Arkene

**AN: Here we go, another fluffy chapter :) Credit where credit's due, I was inspired a great deal by saywheeeee's amazing story "many's the time I ran with you down." The next few chapters will probably be set on Arkene, so I hope you like it. **

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Disclaimer; Not mine. Again, even the "original" components of this were somebody else's first, let alone the DW stuff...

The TARDIS doors creaked open, revealing a stunning floral panorama. Orchids, ranging from thimble sized to ten feet tall, in various shades of blue, green, violet, were surrounded by lush, rolling hills of woodland and glimmering blue lakes. In the middle distance, smoke rose up from a campfire, and yellow pebble paths led the way into what must be a settlement – in fact, it was just about visible behind a group of particularly tall Orchids, a collection of terracotta huts and canvas tents that were clustered around a green area that teemed with the exuberant life of a people that had only ever known peace.

"Wow," breathed Amy, letting her head fall against the Doctor's shoulder. "Wow."

"Yeah," he replied, grinning smugly. "Arcana, home of the Breathing Orchids and the most beautiful landscape this side of…anywhere, really. The plantations are tended by the Arkenes, a peaceful race of humans that settled here in a sort of commune in the late 35th Century-"

"OK, OK, enough of the lecture!" interjected Amy, batting the Doctor across the chest. "Just let me…look."

"Sure," the Doctor agreed readily. "Sure." Silence surrounded them, their breathing falling into synchronisation as they let the beauty around them fill up their minds, all the stress and worries they had ever had seemed to fall away until-

The TARDIS doors creaked again, and Rory stepped out. He had still not quite shaken the apprehensive, how-is-this-happening look on his face every time the TARDIS landed somewhere new, but he, too, was taken aback at the wonders in front of him. Seemingly oblivious to everything else, Rory took a few slow steps, breathing in and out deeply and wearing a huge smile. He turned delightedly to the others.

"This place is gorgeous!" he beamed, pulling Amy to his side by the hand and spinning her around. "Absolutely stunning!"  
Amy laughed and snuggled into his arms.  
"I know, it's just…wow." The two of them laughed together, whirling around and around, lost in their happiness and in each other.

Behind them, leaning – but definitely not slumped – against the TARDIS, the Doctor gave a rueful smile. _She really has no idea, _he thought. _The effect she has on – people – _But he stopped that thought cold. He was _not_ going to let Jane Austen's stupid prying mess with his head. He had brought the TARDIS here so Amy and Rory could have a proper honeymoon holiday, all romance and beauty and loveliness, and that was what they were going to get. Rubbing his hands together, he marched resolutely forwards.  
"Right then!" he said, grabbing Amy's free hand and dragging her and Rory off down the little yellow path. "Shall we go and say hello?"

_-x-_

The Doctor had not chosen this specific time and place completely at random: this was the month of Capolette on Arkana, the last month of summer and the end of the harvest season. Today was the last day of work; tonight the festival would begin. All day now, those not helping getting the last crops in had been cooking, preparing, cleaning, decorating, gathering – the whole village would gleam and glitter, and everyone would be invited to the Opening Feast. It didn't matter if you hadn't done much work during the harvest for whatever reason; expecting young women, mothers and babies, old grandparents, schoolchildren, guests, all would join to celebrate the efforts of their relatives and friends. "Guests" being, of course, the three strangers who had arrived unexpectedly and seemed to take a joy in everything around them.

As darkness started to fall, turning the sky into an inky purple canvas and the orchids into gleaming pools of unearthly colour, everyone gathered around the huge campfire. First, speeches were held by the Mayor, the school teacher, the heads of each family. Amy and Rory, by now accustomed to understanding the language wherever they went, were at first indignant when the Doctor told them he'd temporarily disabled their translation circuits.

"Listen," he'd said, simply, and then they'd heard it – the Arkenes' mother tongue, an ululating singing that all at once seemed to capture the beauty and fragility of Orchids and the responsibility and joy that came from caring from them.

Amy lost herself in the singing tones, her head resting on Rory's lap, staring into the flickering flames. She could not say how much time had passed – hours – minutes – or several dusky evenings. The speech just…came to a natural close, as all the best speeches do, even in an alien language. There was a shining moment of silence – and then the music started. Amy, startled by the drum beat and loud, exuberant tones that seemed so at odds with the flowing gentleness of only moments before, looked around for the source of this intrusion. It took her a while to find them, the group of grinning children, each holding their drum or fiddle with utter pride. Their tiny feet stamped out a simple rhuthm as they danced and weaved through the crowd, forming two concentric circles around the fire. All around, Amy could see parents waving, families laughing, youngest siblings bouncing up and down in their simple joy. As the music carried on, Amy suddenly knew what she had known along. She snuggled further into Rory's steady embrace, secure in her happiness, mind filled with the utter joy, the sweet promise of the thought -

_ I want to be a mother, someday. Not yet. But soon._

**AN: Likey? Hope you do! I just thought we needed some fluffy character stuff, because after this...well. Let's just say there won't be much fluff for a while ;) Please do review, only takes a second and I will be so so grateful!**


	5. Oh! What a Beautiful Morning?

**AN: I'm back! Slightly late, but I went to London, and...yeah. Sorry! :o Anyway, hope you like it. This (and Ch.4, really) is the beginning to a longer segment of the 'fic that will probably take up quite a few chapters. The theme should be self-evident if you're going to recognise it at all, if that makes sense?**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. CBA to write any more. See Chapter 1 for a slightly more eloquent version.**

* * *

The feast ended, eventually, in the flickering light of a dozen tiny dying camp fires and the soporific, devastatingly sweet songs of a children's choir. Everyone had stayed up, even the smallest of children, and by now an air of tiredness had pervaded the festivities. Families and groups were slowly straggling away one by one, exchanging sleepy hugs and smiles with everyone they met.

Amy lay stretched out on a patch of cool grass, face turned towards the glowing remains of what was a roaring campfire what felt like only minutes ago, and now did little to warm her but still exuded an almost hypnotic pull. Her head rested in the mossy, earthy grass and her fingers were splayed out to hold on to bunches of the bright, fresh green. Everything smelt fresh and new from her low vantage point, everything looked beatific bathed in a soft twilight, the whole world seemed at peace.

"Hey, Pond." A tall, lanky shadow fell across Amy's face, jolting her out of her stupor. The Doctor settled himself down beside her, crossing his long legs and giving her a big smile. "How you doing?" he asked gently, reaching out to twine his fingers into hers.

"I…" Amy didn't even know how to express how she was feeling. Safe. Happy. Enchanted. No words seemed to fit; all of them somehow contrite, not enough. "I'm feeling…just about perfect," she settled for in the end, and the Doctor smiled.

"Good! Thought you'd like it here. All the nature, the beauty, the food…"

"Yes," Amy replied drily. "Because I'm really just interested in stuffing my face."

"No!" The Doctor took on a look of sheer panic. "No no no that's not what I meant! You're not that greedy really, I'm a lot greedier, and obviously I don't think you should eat less, I wasn't saying that, I just meant that the food here is really really nice and-"

"Doctor." Amy couldn't help laughing."Shut up a sec"

The Doctor shut his mouth abruptly, looking faintly indignant at having been interrupted.

"I know what you meant, it's cool," Amy continued, "And you're right, the food is absolutely gorgeous here."

"Mmm, I agree," came a soft voice from behind Amy, and the next thing she knew two hands were covering her eyes. "But apart from how you look in firelight, what else were we talking about?"

Amy giggled, and pulled Rory's arms around her so his head rested on her shoulder. She twisted her head to kiss him softly.

"Hey," he smiled. "What was that for? I mean, I'm not complaining or anything, but...eh?"

"Oh, I dunno," murmured Amy into his cheek, her nose bumping against his. "Is there some form I should fill out every time I want to kiss my husband?"

"Well, actually, in the Gamma Quadrant, there's a law that states-" The Doctor, until now pointedly not being intrusive, had sat up and started gesticulating, his eyes glittering with another piece of useless trivia. "But," he added belatedly. "You don't need to know that, do you?"  
Amy and Rory, laughing, shook their heads. They really didn't.

_-x-_

"Amy! Rory! Wake up!"  
Amy opened her bleary eyes and stared around her, momentarily disorientated. As her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, things began to fall into place. Rory beside her, in a similar state of sleepiness. The bright patchwork rug on the floor. The low circular hut they had been lent for ther night. And...the Doctor, hitting the door repeatedly, still yapping like an excitable six year old.

Or a puppy.

Rory rolled over, nearly falling to the floor, and padded over to the door. Giving Amy one last theatrical eye roll, he opened it to reveal the Doctor, already dressed and quite literally bouncing on the spot.

"Come on!" he exclaimed, pulling Rory - in his stripy pyjama bottoms and not much more - outside. "You've had your eight hours, never let it be said I don't account for human biology, so don't complain, there's a shower in that house over there, towels and soap all provided, got it? Good, meet me back by the camp fire when you're done." Immediately, he sprinted back towards the hut where Amy was hiding under her quilt. At the door, he was brought up short and wheeled around to see Rory standing in the sunshine, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "Still here? Come on, chop, chop, we've got a big big day- OK. Never let me say that again."

"Why?"

"It speaks! Hurray! But anyway, never mind, that's a long, sad story. Go, wash, now!" Rory shook his head, completely bemused, and obediently trotted off to the shower block. The Doctor gave a huff, absent mindedly pressing three fingers to his lips before turning back to hitting at Amy's door. She sat up, a vision of red fury, and immediately started yelling.

"Doctor, why the-"

"Ah, ah, no insults before breakfast please," warned the Doctor. A pause. Then, "Gives me indigestion."

* * *

**AN: Is that...? Did she just...? Yep. Yes I did. As of now, this is CANON. Moohaha =]**


	6. Another Choice To Make

**AN: Look who's back, hanging her head in shame. SORRY FOR THE SILENCE! No, not that kind of The Silence. Although that would be epic!^^ Anyway, hopefully I can keep this creative streak up now. Read and enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. Al rights belong to the BBC. Not for profit. Just for my own writerly impulses!**

* * *

Before long, freshly showered and a lot less sleepy, Amy and Rory were sitting around the still-smouldering camp fire, slurping porridge from bowls that had been handed to them with a wordless smile. The Doctor, who apparently had not slept at all, was done eating already and was now deep in conversation with the Arkene Elder. Glancing over, Amy caught a few strands of their conversation.

"- But really, we'd love to help, even just for a couple of days, or longer if you like – "

"No, but thank you, Doctor. We appreciate your offer, and you are welcome to stay with us for as long as you and your companions like. But our work this month is sacred; every man, every woman, every child, has their duties, and to put it simply there just wouldn't be anything for you to do."

"Well, then, let us help around the village. We'll cook, or repair houses, or something. I don't want to go swanning off like some _tourist_!"

Amy giggled. The Doctor's moral compass could be so ridiculously dead-on sometimes it wasn't exactly helpful. Then again, she supposed absolute integrity was far better suited to the Doctor than anything else, considering how much of the time he spent with people's lives in his care. Amy sat, still half-listening to the Doctor's conversation, until Rory bumped her gently in the arm.

"What?" She jerked her head around.

"Nothing," he replied. "You looked so lost in thought; I was going to ask what was up."

"No, nothing's wrong," she smiled, gesturing over at the Doctor. "Just listening to him make a complete mess of local customs, that's all."

Rory chuckled. "Again, huh?"

"Yeah, again…" Suddenly Amy sat bolt upright. "Wait a minute!" she gasped, her eyes shining. "I was _listening._ _We can understand them, Rory!_"

Now Rory sat up too, straining his ears to catch a snippet of two girls' chatter as they passed the fire.

"– and Chester's gonna ask you, Madia heard Pippin talking to him, and why would Chester lie to Pippin?"

"Yeah, I know that, but you _know _Madia's after Luka, so if I go with Chester, then – "

And then the two girls had passed out of earshot, leaving Amy and Rory to stare at each other in wonder. Finally, Amy spoke.

"Must be the TARDIS translation circuits kicking in. The Doctor said it can take a while to pick up a really old language, remember?"  
"No," said Rory, frowning. "When was that?"  
"Oh," Amy's face grew uncomfortable. "I think he might have mentioned it, when, you know… "

Her voice tailed off, and Rory understood. The Doctor and Amy would have had all these basic, important little chats while he was at home, of course. When Amy was the new one, the one the Doctor needed to explain things to. He didn't ask why, once Amy had remembered about him on the night before their wedding, she hadn't passed on the information. He'd have forgotten about it too, with the Doctor whizzing them off to one planet after another.

All these thoughts passed quickly, momentarily, through his mind, and Amy saw them in his eyes. Eventually, he said, "It's fine. At least I know now right?" And he made an effort to smile.

"Rory…" Amy's voice was coaxing, appeasing "I didn't mean it like that. It came up, when we were in this old space museum place, obviously I asked because there were bits of writing that I could read, and bits that I couldn't, and-"

"Amy." Rory cut her off. "I don't mind, honest, OK?"

"OK," agreed Amy, not quite meeting his eyes. "OK."

"Hey, come here," he said, a little more gently, and pulled her into a hug. She hung onto his back, almost as if – and Rory berated himself for even thinking it – she was reassuring him, or herself.

_-x-_

Amy and Rory spent a lazy day wandering around the endless rows of orchids, talking a little, soaking up the goodwill that seemed to come from the air on Arcana. It was over lunch, when they sat under a cluster of trees to one side of an orchid grove and shared a picnic basket, that Amy first broached the thoughts that had first floated into her mind, unannounced, late last night.

"So…those kids," she began. "They were pretty good at singing, huh?"

Rory looked at her quizzically. "Sure," he replied. "I mean, yeah, the singing and music and that was amazing."

Amy was by now playing with strands of grass, her long hair falling like a shield to hide her face.

"And cute, too."

"Yep," Rory said, now frowning. "All kids are cute, really."

"Mind you, I reckon parents always think their own kids are the cutest, don't you?"

"I guess so. It's instinctive, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Hey," Amy added with a little laugh. "Remember the nursery we had in that dream?"

"I do, yeah," Rory said quietly.

"Well, I kind of liked it. The yellow, I mean. Very friendly, even if the whole thing _was _just made up by the Dream Lord…"

Rory thought he could see where this was going, now. Of course it had been on his mind; there were _married_, after all; but he'd been to wary of Amy's reaction to even mention it. And now, of course, she had beaten him to it. Bold, impulsive Amy; she'd always been faster to say something, do something, even if afterwards her heart was no longer in it. Rory knew this, but he'd also learned to recognise when she wasn't just acting in a flash, and this was one of these times. Trembling inwardly, he placed his hands over Amy's, still so busy in the grass.

"Amy…" he whispered, seeking her eyes. "Do you mean what I think you-"

Amy looked up, shocked.

"No!" she spluttered "Of course not! I'm not – Why would I be – I mean, we always- - "  
She tailed off, seeing his grin.  
"I didn't mean it like that," Rory said reassuringly. "All I meant was, are you thinking along those lines? And I guess you just answered that question, huh?"

Amy sighed, relieved. "Right. But…yeah," She added quietly, smiling. "I was thinking."

Rory laughed then, pulling her into a hug that sent them both sprawling in the soft meadow. Grinning, Amy brought her lips to his, kissing him hungrily, her hand-

"Amy!" Rory jerked away, outraged. "When you said you were thinking, I didn't think you were thinking right here, right now!"  
Amy giggled, pulling herself close to him.  
"Don't worry," she said, laughing at his ever-so-slightly disappointed expression. Then her face grew more serious. Inches from Rory's face, her eyes locked onto his. "But when, do you think?" she asked, quietly.  
"Amy, I…I don't know," Rory said, pulling both of them into a sitting position. "With everything were doing right now, with the Doctor – and I know we haven't been anywhere dangerous for a while, but who knows what'll happen next? Besides, the TARDIS…it's not exactly a place for happy families."

"Yeah, you're right," Amy said, clearly relieved. "I think so, too. It's just… I do want that, some day. And imagining choosing between staying or going, someday…"

Rory closed his eyes. Looked away. He'd made that choice already; when the time came, when they'd both had enough of it or when their wish for a family simply overshadowed the adventure – he'd pack up and leave in a heartbeat. It'd be sad, of course, to say goodbye, and he'd try and get through it with the thought of what would come next. But he knew already, even without looking at her, that Amy was only now beginning to face those thoughts.

"Amy…" he began. "The TARDIS isn't the place for a baby. Our baby."  
"I know, I know," she murmured. Then her voice grew bright again. "Besides, why think about that now? We've got ages. Years, really. Come on!" She jumped up, pulling Rory to his feet with her. "Let's go smell some more flowers, yeah?"

Rory followed her, as he always would. But every step was an effort, every smile and giggle she threw at him hurt.

_I made my choice, Amy. I followed you and the Doctor. I chose to be adventurous, like you. I chose not to demand on us settling down, being a proper married couple. I chose you, over all of that. When will you choose? _

Later, back in bed after another feast, when the pain had all but completely faded, Rory found himself thinking another thought. Unbidden. Unwanted. Unappreciated. He refused to acknowledge it, to give it status as something worth thinking about. He was being paranoid again, always over-thinking Amy's impulsive moods.

Nevertheless, the thought was there.

_Who will you choose?_

* * *

**AN: Wow, that turned out...more fraught than I imagined. The characters just ran away with it! Anyway, to everyone who may be worried about The State of the Marriage, don't worry. I think Rory's just going through normal husband-like, Rory-like, paranoia. **

**AN2: Also, no, despite what you may think, I am NOT going to make this smutty in any sense of the word. The above was as far as it'll ever go. OK? Although it seems tempting, I know it'd just get silly within about the first paragraph. And I wouldn't be able to stop giggling at every word I type. I know, I know, _so_ mature... ^^**


	7. Choice

**AN: Wow! Second update in a day! I must be procrastinating pon something... Sorry? What did you say? Script Frenzy? Summer Mocks? Pssshh.**

**AN2: This chapter is a little bit...odd... I know where I want to go with it, but I'm not convinced it's the right thing. Mainly because now I feel like a horrible person. All my chibis are weeping.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. The BBC does. Obviously.**

* * *

The Doctor had been watching them for a while now. The way they could sway from elated closeness to a sort of resentful chill with just a few short words was beginning to worry him. They were _married _now, wasn't all that stuff supposed to be worked out before the wedding? Once or twice, he tried to ask Amy, subtly, what was on her mind. But every time she simply shut him out, laughing and running and smiling, as happy as could be.

But the Doctor wasn't fooled; her eyes grew distant whenever Rory stalked off to think things over by himself. He had to resign himself to watching, then, for now.

He didn't comment when Amy decided to try sleeping outside, prattling on about the starry night, and Rory said he'd rather stay indoors. He didn't comment when, over dinner, Rory said he didn't think it was very responsible of Amy to be sleeping outdoors like a kid, and Amy responded with a rather pointed look and said that there wasn't anything to be responsible about so why shouldn't she have some fun?

The Doctor didn't comment when she convinced him to sleep outside as well.

Rory had, by now, gone inside and was apparently asleep – or at least in bed. Still, the Doctor didn't miss the way Amy's voice grew low, and slightly furtive. He hesitated, but Amy's pleading and wheedling eventually worked. They gathered up sleeping bags and mugs of cocoa and then made their camp a little to one side of the campfire that seemed to burn continually at the centre of the settlement.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. They just sat, leaning against an old tree, wrapped in their sleeping bags and sipping cocoa, each lost to their own thoughts. Eventually, the Doctor became aware of Amy's eyes on his. He looked round at her, half-smiling, ready to make a joke and skip over the moment, but somehow her gaze held him. The air seemed to crackle; time seemed to stop.

Slowly, as if in a trance, Amy reached out to take his hand. That wasn't new; they held hands so often, running or laughing or walking. So why did it _feel_ new, this time? Why did the hairs all along that arm stand up? Why was the Doctor suddenly so aware of the way he was breathing, the pulse hammering through his fingers, the hush that had descended around them?

Eventually, he spoke. He had to; her stillness was unbearable; it scared him to death.

"Amy," he began, and that was as far as he got. His voice, usually so effervescent, so fluent, cracked and faltered. But it had done what it was supposed to do – the moment passed, the world struck up around them again, and Amy's eyes flitted away.

Then, finally, he managed to make that stupid joke; managed to tap her fondly on the forehead; managed to get the balance back into their talk. They talked – about the Orchids, about the village, about where they would go next. It was late, very late, when they next fell silent. The Doctor had almost begun to think that Amy had fallen asleep, and he wouldn't have blamed her for it, when she called to him, softly.

"Doctor."

It wasn't a question; it wasn't even a statement. For one, freezing moment, the Doctor thought she was dreaming. Then, before he could even begin to unpick _that_ particularly unsettling thought, Amy sat up. He followed her, and when he opened his arms, Amy didn't hesitate. Curled into each other under the silent trees, the Doctor thought they were only now, finally, really beginning to talk.

"Doctor, you know me and Rory have been…well," Amy ended lamely, not knowing how to end that sentence.

"I know," the Doctor answered. "I saw, I heard. What's going on?"

And then, miraculously, Amy didn't push him away. She started to tell him everything, and her words were enough to bring a tear to his eye. Knowing that Amy felt torn, knowing that she would rather stay on the TARDIS and delay this deepest, most basic wish, suddenly meant more to him than she could ever know. In fact, as the Doctor kept on listening, he realised more and more that she _couldn't_ ever know. If she did, she would never go, and as wonderfully selfish as that thought was, he couldn't do it. He couldn't.

So he rearranged his features into what he hoped came across as a concerned-yet-distant look, and set about making things right between Amy and Rory.

"Look, Amy," he said eventually, when her stream of words had petered out. "Rory loves you. So much. And all he's doing right now is trying to be the person he thinks you want."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he's being impulsive, and daring, and outgoing – and a little bit more reckless – because he thinks if you're not bored of him you won't leave without him."

The _'with me' _was unsaid, but Amy heard it anyway.

"I know that…" she mutters. "And I do love Rory, I'm more in love with him than ever, but it just feels like we never want the same thing."

"You want each other," the Doctor said simply. "The rest is just detail."

"You think?"

"I think," he confirmed, catching her face between his hands and forcing her to look at him. "And you know what? I think he's right."

Amy tried, instinctively, to jerk away, to hide to hurt that had clouded her eyes, to protect herself from the rejection she had been fearing since the day she woke up, age 7, and he wasn't back yet. But the Doctor held her, made her meet his look.

"I don't mean I want you to leave," he added gently. "OF course I don't! But if you don't stop and settle, Amy, he's always going to feel like you want something else. Someone else," he added pointedly, and he knew she understood.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. The Doctor found himself casting his eyes around wildly, looking for something, anything, to focus on rather than the face that was still looking steadily at him. Then Amy's eyes drew him back, and he couldn't look away.

Then she said something, and it took him a while to register it. At first he thought he must have misheard, and then he laughed, because it had so obviously been a joke, then he stopped. She was still looking at him, waiting, half afraid, half fearless, for an answer.

"Sorry, what?" he asked, and it was more of a plea than a question. If she said that again – well, he didn't know what he would do. How strong he could be.

"Give me one night."

* * *

**AN: Dun dun duuuh! Oh, I do like making these characters suffer :) Am very very curious to know what you think will happen next - and also what you think SHOULD happen next.**


	8. One Night

**AN: I honestly haven't eaten. All. Day. Apart from, like, _one_ lesson, all I've been doing is writing. Woah. Anyway, here it is. Writing this chapter was hard. I'm crying now. Wrung out. Guhh.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, it belongs to the BBC**

* * *

The Doctor blinked, trying to make the world make sense again. Then he opened his mouth to speak, but no sounds would come. Then he gave up on everything, and just stared.

Amy, who in that moment was braver than anyone the Doctor had ever met, still didn't look away. Her mouth twisted, and then the rest came tumbling out of her in one big rush –

"I just need to work out what I want. I mean, I love Rory and I want to stay with him, but then there's - there's _you_, all, all, gawky and tall and clever and mad and, my _god, _gorgeous, and I don't know why but I can't focus anymore. I know I want to be married, I don't regret that, not ever, and I'd do it all over again, obviously, but I just think I won't be able to settle for anything until I know."

The Doctor continued to stare.

"I don't want to be 'with you', that's not what I mean, at least, I don't think it's what I mean. I just want to know what it would have been like. If I hadn't been so stupid after that thing with the Angels. If we hadn't gone back for Rory. If I'd just let things go on a bit slower. What then, Doctor? Don't lie to me. What would have happened?"

The Doctor continued to stare, but she was waiting for an answer, and if he didn't give her an answer she wouldn't stop _looking_ at him, and while she was looking he couldn't think.

"Amy," he began, then stopped.

She wouldn't stop looking.

"Amy," he tried again. "Do you realise what you're saying?"

"What?" she muttered defensively.

"That settling with Rory is settling for less. Don't you realise how that sounds?"

"I know what it sounds like!" she hissed. "I know that, okay? And if it was anyone else saying what I'm saying, and if they were saying it to anyone else than you, I'd laugh at them. I'd think they were horrible callous person who didn't know what they had. Who didn't deserve such a sweet, understanding, patient, husband. Who didn't realise the damage they can cause."

By now Amy was crying soundlessly, tears streaking her cheeks. The Doctor almost reached out to brush them away, but stopped himself.

"But it's _not_ just anyone," Amy continued. "It's you, and it's me. It's us. We're not everyone."

The Doctor nodded, slowly. He understood Amy completely, in those short words. They weren't just anyone .Not because he was a Time Lord and she was a human, not because they travelled in time, not because they'd been brave or heroic or saved lives, but because they were _them_. Amy-and-the-Doctor. The-Doctor-and-Amy. Inseparable and inexplicable, mad and impossible.

Amy, he noticed, was still looking at him, but not as she had been. She wasn't waiting for his reaction. She was waiting for his decision.

"Amy," he said, stumbling over the simplest of words. "I know what you mean, and I know why, and I understand, and – and I did want it, I do want it, too. But! But," he hurried on, "I don't think we can."

"What do you mean, can?"

"What would it do to Rory? And even if we kept it secret what would it do to us? If you do stay, how long could you stay, remembering tonight?"

"Ooh, Doctor," Amy purred, and the sound sent a tingle up the Doctor's spine. His name, said like that. "Will it be _that_ unforgettable?"

The Doctor smirked; he couldn't help himself.

"Well… No! No, no, no! That's not what I meant!" he yelped. "I meant because you'd be feeling guilty."

"But I don't think it'd be that bad! I mean, it's not like we're planning to keep it going. I know that, you know that, we both know it so why not? Doctor?"

He had no answer. If he had been in any other mental state – if he hadn't wanted it, so very badly, at that moment – he might have come up with a better argument. As it was, it was taking far too much effort to even string two words together.

There was a long pause, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time. Both of them were searching the other's face, reading them with their eyes, speaking volumes without saying a word. The Doctor wanted to hold on to this moment; a moment when the decision hadn't been made but was already there. A moment of absolute, irresponsible honesty.

But it couldn't last; he knew it couldn't last.

_I'm losing her already. Losing her to the perfect husband and the perfect family and the perfect life I can never live. I lost her, really, a long time ago, before I knew what I was pushing away. I lost her when I didn't come back. I lost her when I didn't _kiss_ back. And I'm still losing her…_

_Let me hold on. Just for one night._

"Yes."

"What?"

"I said, OK," the Doctor said, cupping her cheeks in his hands.

For one more, indescribably endless moment, they stared at each other.

Then the Doctor kissed Amy, and Amy kissed the Doctor, and it was unimaginably painful and unimaginably sweet, and it was just like both of them had imagined it would be.

After a while – neither of them had been paying enough attention to the time to even guess at how long it had been – they broke apart. Smiled, foolishly, at one another.

"Huh," Amy said, not meeting his eyes.

"Huh," the Doctor repeated, softly, and then took her hands. Dropped them, gently. Played with her hair. Stroked hesitantly over her cheekbones. Finally she looked at him again, and her eyes smouldered with a slow-burning heat. He found himself reflected in them, felt the same pressure, the same heat, building inside him.

They came together wordlessly, their noses being bumped and bent in the process, in the need to feel each others' touch. This second kiss was shorter, slower. There was no denying it – this kiss was building to something.

Breaking apart again was difficult, but necessary. Getting out of their respective sleeping bags, standing up and starting to walk was even harder, but the knowledge of what would happen next was enough to keep both of them on their feet.

Finally. _Finally_ they reached a spot of relative seclusion. Finally he looked at her, a question in his eyes, and she nodded, once. Finally they dropped their packs where they stood. Finally he took two strides towards her; finally she took three to meet him –

_-x-_

The sun was hot on Amy's back. It tickled her skin, warming it gently. Her eyelids fluttered; then her eyes opened. All that she was aware of was sheer happiness. Then images – distorted sounds – whispered names and ecstatic feelings – started rushing in.

His chest against hers, his two hearts beating wildly against hers, three hearts drumming out a furious rhythm.

His eyes above hers, grey-green-blue-black-storm coloured. Dark with lust, Soft with love.

His lips on hers. Her lips pressing against his.

Amy remembered, and she didn't. She knew what had happened, but she couldn't place it. Who, what, where, when, why, _how_?

Slowly, she returned to the here and now. To the Doctor, his arms still circled around her, his sleepy breathing slow and steady. His hearts, still in their own rhythm-of-four, beating slower now, matching the pulse in her ear.

And then she started to cry.

_-x-_

The Doctor wasn't woken by the sound so much as the dripping. One by one, falling over her cheeks onto his chest. Her eyes went to his – saw that they were open – flew away. Then Amy rolled herself away. Sat up in a hunched ball. Picked up her shirt and threw it over her bare shoulders.

"Amy - "

A terrible pause.

"It's early, Amy, earlier than you think. Sunrise, it's about 4.30, no one's up yet."

She nodded, once, her face still turned far away.

So this was how it was going to be.

* * *

**AN: Waaaahhh D':**

**AN2: Do please let me know if you liked this scene. And even if you didn't like the actual PLOT part of it - if, say, you are ready to rip my face off with a cry of "IIIIN THE NAAAME OF RORYYYYY" - I'd really love some feedback on the actual writing. This is my first foray nto proper romantic scenes - and, really this time, this is as far as I'll go with it - but I'm worried it got a bit toooooo purple-prosey. They never even said the word "sex!" What is this, Twilight?**


	9. Early Morning

**AN: Woo, here I am, fourth chapter in two days! I really need to do my maths work, and my work log, and my screnzy script, but I literally cannot stop writing this. Enjoy! ^^**

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to the BBC. This is totally not-for-money. I don't own Doctor Who. **

* * *

Rory struggled to wake, his mind dulled by sleep but already aware of a change in the bed. As his eyes blinked open a few times, he caught the half-open door that was letting in a pool of early sunlight. Suddenly confused, he looked around properly.

Amy was now curled up beside him, fully dressed, her head buried in the curve between his neck and shoulders, her arms loosely draped over his chest. He reached out to stroke back a curl of hair plastered to her streaked cheek; she'd been crying.

It was early, Rory realised, earlier than he was used to waking up, and Amy must have woken up outside and crawled into bed beside him even earlier. Well, he wasn't surprised; the couple of times he camped out with the scouts, they'd all been up at the crack of dawn, unaccustomed to the bright natural light and chorus of birdsong.

But they generally hadn't woken up crying.

Rory lay back, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for his wife to wake up and tell him why.

_-x-_

It felt like hours later, but it was probably closer to minutes. Finally, Amy stirred. Her limbs stretched and creased, her pulse quickened and her eyes fluttered open. All at once she was in a panic, sitting bolt upright and looking around in confusion.

"Amy?" Rory asked gently, and she whirled around to face him. He didn't miss the confused disappointment as she tried to place his face, or the spasm of guilt that crossed her features in the instant she knew. Still, she was smiling quickly enough, leaning over to give him a soft kiss before wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close.

"Never," she sighed into his neck. "Let me sleep outside again. No one told me how bloody loud those birds can be."

He chuckled, glad the moment had passed, and held her tight.

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Oh, sure, I think," she giggled. "If you count being stung to death by a million insects as restful sleep, that is."

"Are you hurt?" Rory asked, his brow creasing in worry.

"No, no. Just a bit shook up. I don't think they were really the stinging kinds of insects. I just feel a bit itchy, that's all."

Rory rubbed his hands over her neck, her back. They felt smooth, unharmed and blemish-free as always. He didn't ask where the insects had stung her, or where the itch was worst.

"Amy, I did tell you," he began, but had to grin when he saw her roll her eyes at him. "But I guess you've at least tried it once now, right?"

"What?" Almost indistinguishably, her voice rose a couple of cadences. "What do you mean?

"Sleeping outside," he commented lightly. "You know, the whole camping-out thing. Get it out of your system."

"Oh! Right! Yeah, sorry, dozy moment. I did tell you I didn't sleep much. And," she continued, "When I did get some sleep it wasn't exactly restful."

"Nightmares?" Rory pulled her close for a hug. They almost never talked about it – to talk about it would make it real, make it tangible – but he knew she'd been suffering almost as badly as he'd been. Plastic Romans. Exploding suns. A starless sky. A world without the Doctor.

The Universe – or whichever Universe they'd been in –hadn't been kind to Rory and Amy, and they were still feeling the aftermath.

"No, not... Not those," Amy replied eventually. "They've kind of gone away by now. I was just – I mean, I can't even really remember what I dreamed about. It wasn't nice, anyway."

"Okay," he said softly. "Well, you're here now, yeah? You're fine. Want to try and sleep some more?"

"No, I don't think I could, anymore," Amy said. "It's too bright, anyway."

"Sure, that's good. I mean, yeah. Fine." Rory knew he was babbling, so he stopped, his ears lightly pink, and Amy couldn't help but giggle. They both lay back then, arms curled around each other. They'd developed a sort of shorthand with each other – an intimacy that seemed to react on thought rather than touch, and certainly without the need for any words. Amy stroked his hair, Rory cradled her hands in his own; both of them lost in wandering thoughts and daydreams.

Both of them so relaxed, clinging on to this hushed early morning peace.

Ostensibly focused on her hands, he shot her a sideways glance. She still didn't know, even now, after everything, how long he'd been watching her. How well-practised he'd become in reading her features. So she couldn't have known how much it hurt, seeing her like this and not knowing why. So close, so intimate, and so very far away. 

_-x-_

The hush, inevitably, couldn't last. Soon, the village began to wake; sounds of sleepy conversations, sizzling breakfasts and gushing showers stirred the breeze. Amy, now tracing delicate patterns over Rory's chest, pretended not to notice, and he was happy to stay where he was. Every now and again they would make eye contact, and in each of those looks something passed, unsaid, between them; it was in their fleeting smiles, in the creases that temporarily clouded their foreheads, in the beginnings of a glisten in their eyes.

I'm sorry - I know - You know how sorry I am - I know - Please believe me - I do, I believe you, I forgive you. Let's forget.

In truth, Rory had no idea why Amy was even apologising. Of course his paranoid mind had leapt straight to the worst, the obvious, conclusion, and he dismissed it, but he forced himself not to look deeper than that. If they were going to have any sort of life right now, he was going to have to forget hearing these unsaid sorrys.

So long as he knew Amy wasn't oblivious, so long as he knew that she knew how much effort it was costing him, so long as he could see that she didn't want to hurt him, he could live with it. Someday, they were going to have to talk about this. They would sit down, and decide when and how they were going to settle, and work out between them how married life would work.

Rory wasn't a complete fool; he knew he was being a little too lax, that he was probably making that eventual discussion harder than it could otherwise be. But for now, he just needed to know she was here. That she loved him, more than anyone else.

This life, this prolonged holiday onboard the TARDIS, was exactly that; a holiday. A bit of a breather, for both of them, where the normal balance of marriage didn't quite apply, at least not yet. Rory, lying there as Amy cuddled and kissed him too softly, too sweetly, knew what this decision to wait meant. It meant that he was, in effect, giving her up to adventure, until she was good and ready to come home with him. To start a home with him, and stay there.

He could wait; he was, after all, already well-practised in waiting for her.

* * *

**AN: We're back in Rory's head, and we all know what that means... AAAANGST. Okay, to be honest they're all quite fraught ight now. =D But don't worry, we're switching to another POV soon. She's less angsty, more...actually, scratch that. That damaged little mind is the angstiest of them all.**

**AN2: And with that particularly angst-ridden AN, I feel like a bit of a fraud. Because I've just realised we need at least one more cahpter where nothing really happens before I can let this plot keep going. SORRY! YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME! X O X O!**

**AN3:... Really, Laura, really? Gossip Girl references in Doctor Who fanfiction? How much more confused about its identity can your little brain get? **

**AN4: 3 Author Notes. Now 4. If I don't watch it they'll begin to outweigh the fic. Oops.**

**AN5: Sorry sorry sorry! But I forgot to say, as always, thank you to my loverly reviewers. And do let me know what you think of this chapter, and where you think this story might end up going. :D**


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